Remembering What We Swore To Destroy
by the fish is dead
Summary: After a lifetime of friendship, there's one last thing left to explore. Tragedy changes you, but you always remain the same. Angsty .. twisted HGHP R&R !


One pale thigh stuck out amongst the tangled bed covers where she laid, a harsh contrast in the muddied moonlight shining upon her. Her chest hardly seemed to move. It was the slow, stroking movements of her long, delicate fingers against her pillow that gave away any sign of life at all. The steady stream of tears running down her cheeks came quietly.

There were books scattered across the floor when he came in. He tried in vain to avoid each one, unsteadily advancing to the foot of her bed. He stood; tense, for a long moment, before precariously lowering himself down to sit on the edge. He felt awkward watching her like he was, but the words wouldn't come.

With an amount of effort that almost broke his heart, she turned from her side, her red eyes and splotchy complexion now lividly obvious, even in the uncomfortable dark of the small room.

"You already know I came here to be alone, Harry."

Hermione spoke so quietly, he had to strain his ears to hear. She took a deep breath as though she had something to add, but nothing came. His eyes flickered over to her, careful to avoid her eyes.

The blankets were twisted angrily around her middle, thrusting up her t-shirt to expose a large white expanse of stomach. As far as physical appearances went, Hermione and Ginny couldn't be more different. Ginny had always been remarkably thin, like her father and most of her brothers. Hermione, on the other hand, upheld a more healthy weight. What had been baby fat in her early years now complimented her more feminine aspects. This was never something he had before let his thoughts linger on, and hard as he tried, he couldn't ignore the slight feeling of excitement at the core of his unease.

Harry forced himself to turn, instead concentrating on an obscure drawing of a toad hanging on the wall opposite Hermione.

He tried not to stumble on his words as he spoke. "I didn't know if it... if it would be the best idea for you to be alone right know."

"I think I've earned the _right_, don't you, Harry?" she snarled. He still did not turn. He could picture her expression; her eyes fluid with this newfound passion that had transformed Hermione of late. She had never been what he would have described as laid back, but this transformation had been an unforeseen one. She had been angry before, but the fury she was now capable of was far from the grasp of Harry's comprehension.

"I know what you're going through."

"No, you don't." Her response was shot back with venom.

"Hermione, I've been here before..."

"No – you – haven't!" Her words shook, and Harry felt the blankets being ripped from beneath him. She took hold of a pillow and threw it, aimlessly, letting out a repressed cry. Harry was on his feet now, watching her dig her nails into the pale, slightly freckled skin of her forearm, so near to drawing blood that he fought with the instinct to grab hold of her wrists and make her stop. Her hair, which had once been long and thick, had been chopped short and coarse; more twisted bristles than there were curls. It fell in front of her face, shadowing her expression as gulped down mouthfuls of musty air.

He felt so helpless standing there, watching her fall deeper into something he wasn't sure that he could save her from.

"You – have – no – idea!" She had always been ashamed of tears, but now she stared at him with watery eyes, baring everything. "You don't know what it's like to have them taken away from you like this! You have no clue how much I loved them, and – and to have them _stolen_ from me like that ... it's unfair, it's – it's so unfair..."

"I've lost people that I've loved, Hermione," Harry snapped back, forgetting his sympathy. "Do you want me to list them? Sirius, Dumbledore..."

"Right, sorry, I forgot! I forgot – how _stupid_ of me! I forgot that no matter how bad _my_ life seems, yours is always that much worse, and therefore the only one deserving any kind of understanding. I _forgot_ that it's your life that has the pity of the world!_ Forgive me_ for having such a moment of stupidity!" She said the words with as must conviction as she could muster, but the brunt of her anger was lost on him. He stared, distracted by her pink, glistening face, and the tears that refused to stop. The more he stared, the less he could see himself. He lost himself in her, unintentionally letting go of his own emotions and thoughts. It was only as he touched her hand did he realize that had come over and knelt at her side.

Her expression quivered, stuck somewhere between anger, confusion, and sorrow. His other hand stroked her face, and only when her head fell into the crook of his neck did he begin to hear himself mutter the words, again and again, "It'll be okay, Hermione. I love you. Everything will be okay..."

In his arms, she felt so small, like he was only holding pieces of her. Occasionally she would murmur some sorts of desperation into his shoulder, about how Ron didn't understand, or how they would never come back.

He never thought she'd emerge; but she did so, and much too quickly than he ever would have hoped. For some reason, he still couldn't look away. Her eyes were captivating, even as they were, swimming in unshed tears. They were much too large for her otherwise petite face, and they could pull anyone in. They had depths Harry couldn't understand, but the farther he now fell, the more intrigued he became.

Those eyes suddenly got much too close much too fast.

He had never really noticed her lips, but when they met his, he realized that he probably should have. Full and sweet, he found in difficult to register those lips to the mess of a girl before him. The taste of her was shocking, shaking off the initial disgust and mangled guilt he felt. He was propelled to move farther and deeper, like he had with her eyes. Her face, as he grasped it, was still wet, and in between kisses he could hear and feel her gasp, grabbing at unattainable amounts of air.

He felt every inch of her he could. Her lean, defined neck, her small shoulders, her wrists, her hips, anything he could manage. The more he fell into her, the more painfully he realized he wasn't supposed to be there.

He didn't have the strength to pull away, but in the end, he didn't need it. She grew cold eventually, breaking away. He let her, without protest.

It took a few minutes before she could stop crying. He didn't touch her. Instead, he fiddled with the razor-edged guilt that was tentatively settling in.

"I – you understand me sometimes, Harry," she attempted. Harry wasn't sure what she was trying to resolve, but he nodded, his head feeling very heavy and numb.

There was a long silence. Thoughts suddenly began pulsing through Harry's mind, and he tried to control his breathing. Unavoidable images of Ron and Ginny seemed to burn him, roaring down his throat and straight through his heart.

There was a slight shift beside him, and Harry dared himself to look over at her. Her head was leaning against the wall, a lost expression on her face.

Her eyes fell onto his, and for a short moment his struggles calmed, and a feeling of sharp pity roared through him. It was like, suddenly, he could see all her cracks. He could see her flaws, the spots where it hurt. It was just like he had been able to all his life; the cuts were just deeper this time. But the woman he saw before him wasn't about to break down in tears when she got a less than perfect mark on an assignment anymore, and it scared him. It scared him that she had grown so quickly, and he was only now beginning to see it. Only now could he recognize the glimmers of an old Hermione under the layers and layers of this unknown person.

"I feel empty without them," Hermione spoke up, her eyes still seeking some kind of answer, some kind of comfort in his. Images of her parents flickered through his mind. Hard as he tried to forget, the feeling of them, cold and limp and unmistakably dead, and the sinking, unavoidable notion that in just a few moments, he would have to go and tell Hermione that their worst fears had been confirmed ... it still sent a flood of ice through his veins. "Do ... do you know what I'm saying? I just – I just don't know how to explain it ... but do you understand what I'm saying?"

He contemplated reaching out and holding her hand, but something in her voice made up his mind. He would never truly be able to explain his actions that night, nor the small, lingering torch of unexplainable feelings he would carry for her throughout the rest of his life. But at least he knew what he did that night was not something he was likely to repeat. Underneath it all, there was a strong, strange bond connecting them, but he did not desire to explore it. He was truly happy when he was with Ginny, and he knew what he felt for her was indeed love – and he had always thought that the same relationship was present between Ron and Hermione, but in this moment of confusion, something in her voice, and in her eyes, made him think twice.

"Yeah," he whispered, choosing instead to merely meet her questionable gaze. "I think I do."

She didn't say a word the rest of the night, but kept a trembling finger to reddened lips.

And though the memory crossed their minds more than once, they didn't speak of the incident again.


End file.
